


You don't have to run (I know what you've been through)

by Stark616



Series: You've been scared of love [2]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark616/pseuds/Stark616
Summary: “I’m good,” he starts. “As good as it could possibly get here.” Which is true, because compared to others— he has it easy. Sure, he’s beaten, cursed at, yelled at, thrown stuff at, forced into wearing animal skins and blood as trophies, thrown against the wall when all he does it talk back, left outside in the freezing cold because of a compliment he forgot to give, but still.He has it easy.





	You don't have to run (I know what you've been through)

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, here's a part two to this series.

The first time Jay laid eyes on Carlos De Vil, the boy was covered from head to toe in expensive fur coats and feathers of a bird that he assumed must have been rare. To any thief at heart, the sight of the boy would have their mouths watering with profit. They could either take the whole boy and sell everything he had including his body, or simply just take everything at once and watch amused as a child’s innocence was stolen. Later, however, Jay learned that Carlos had no innocence left — Cruella, Carlos’ mother, had taken it all for herself. 

 

“Is your mom home?” He asked slowly, despite seeing her jump into a cab only a couple of seconds ago. 

 

The younger boy, face dusted with freckles and small, cat-like scratches frowned and bit his lip in question.  _ Yes _ , he wanted to say because having Jay over was a privilege— a privilege he didn’t deserve. But deep down he knew that even if he did say yes, Jay wouldn’t believe any of it. The Arabian practically knew him inside and out. 

 

He sighed and whispered a quick, “ _ No _ , she’s not.”

 

Jay smiled and let himself in, his answer had been satisfying enough as an invitation. Carlos’ house was always dark inside, even if the sun was out. According to the younger teen, his mom hated the sun. The dim, crackling light bulb attached to the ceiling with a string would have to do. 

 

“How have you been?”

 

Carlos only blinks. As if he hadn’t been expecting any sort of question. No one on the isle of the lost ever asks how someone is doing— everyone’s too ‘evil’ and ‘selfish’ to care about someone other than themselves. With Jay, however, there’s always an exception.  _ Always. _

 

“I’m good,” he starts. “As good as it could possibly get here.” Which is true, because compared to others— he has it easy. Sure, he’s beaten, cursed at, yelled at, thrown stuff at, forced into wearing animal skins and blood as trophies, thrown against the wall when all he does it talk back, left outside in the freezing cold because of a compliment he forgot to give, but still. 

 

He has it easy. 

 

“I thought you were going to say ‘rotten to the core’ for a second,” Jay chuckled as he sat in one of his mother’s burnt and stitched-up chairs. The one that Carlos had been tied to with belts only a few hours earlier, while his mother decorated him with another one of her latest creations: a puppy fur coat, rabbit fur stockings, and crocodile leather boots.  _ Tell him to leave _ , he thought. Nevertheless, he kept his mouth shut and forced a smile because for someone like Jay, he would do anything.

 

_ Anything _ . 

 

The Arabian, of course, narrowed his eyes into a suspicious frown. But instead of coming up with a cocky remark or teasing him for being a lying and ignorant coward, he said something Carlos hadn’t been expecting. 

 

“Jafar used to beat me too,” the older teen mumbles through grit teeth. His hands, once resting on the edge of his knees in a playful position, shoot up and run through his long, hat covered hair. “Sometimes he would pour wax on my legs and wait until I burst out in tears so that he could laugh. _ I hated him _ ,” he pauses and lets out a rough, strangled breath. “But what could I do? He was and is my father. So I never fought him and his ways. I learned it was best to go along with it,” he continues as he stares long and hard into Carlos’ blue eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it alone though. I can  _ help _ you, C.”

 

Carlos doesn’t deserve any help though. He deserves nothing— Cruella’s always made sure he had that engraved into his brain;  _ Carlos De Vil deserves nothing but pain. _ And help doesn’t cause any pain, so therefore he doesn’t deserve any of it.

 

“Glad you’re offering, dude,” he breathed. “But I think I’ll pass.”

 

Jay doesn’t fall out of his chair or gape like Carlos had expected. He seems unaffected. Despite always being pretty calm in situations (such as being thrown to the ground by a screaming lady and then hit over the head with a lamp) the young boy finds himself frustrated. Jay should be storming out the door promising never to return, not sitting there like an idiot wasting his time. 

 

After a couple more seconds of harsh, tense silence— the older of the two laughs. He  _ laughs _ like if it’s the end of the freaking world, so hard that his hands reach down to clutch his sides. Carlos can only stare.

 

_ This _ is the guy he fell in love with. The guy that regardless of his own pain, thought of others—  others like  _ Carlos _ who shouldn’t have someone caring for them. He watches attentively as the teen keeps laughing, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his arms shake and his cheeks redden with the small amount of air allowed to flow into his strong and solid lungs. 

 

_ “Don’t you dare fall for him” _ , he had said to himself the day they’d first met. Not only was he attracted to the same gender, but he was attracted to  _ Jay:  _ the son of Jafar, who’d surely skin them both if he found out. Cruella liked to brag about how ‘pretty’ Carlos was and Jafar liked to brag about how strong Jay was. An impossible, disgusting, and worthless romance between the two would not only ruin both of their reputations—  but it would also be absolutely  _ pathetic _ . It would be truly remarkable if anyone on the island thought otherwise.

 

The white-haired teen’s eyes snap back to the wall when he notices the laughter has faded. 

 

Jay, wiping his eyes with the side of his fist, snorts once more before sitting up straight and grinning. “You know, last night I had this vision of the two of us running away,” he claims. “We left everyone behind and eventually found a safe place where we wouldn’t suffer anymore.”

 

The word  _ safe _ makes Carlos quiver. If the isle of the lost and his own home wasn’t  _ safe _ , then where else could be?

 

“But when I woke up this morning,” he continues. “I was sweating like fucking crazy and I knew it hadn’t been as good as I thought it would— it turned out to be a  _ nightmare _ .”

 

Carlos twitches at that and can’t stop his lips from moving. “That’s what you get for thinking stupid stuff,” he declares as if he  _ were  _ his mother. He chooses to ignore the slight recoil of the other’s fist. “You’re always thinking and thinking and thinking until you actually  _ believe  _ that things are going to get better by running away like fucking  _ princess’!”  _ The young De Vil rips and tears at his sleeve with his nails as he rants, because if this is going to be the last time he sees and talks to Jay, it’s best to get everything out. Even if it’s the harsh way. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day and I won’t be able to take it. I don’t need your help but that doesn’t mean I don’t  _ need  _ you. Choosing to care about me was one thing, but trying to manipulate me into believing you without knowing it is too far.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jay rasps from his spot on the chair. 

 

Carlos jerks at that, his body feels too numb to answer. But once again, his lips move to their accord. 

 

“I started liking you.”

  
  


At that very moment, Cruella chooses to burst through the door. Carlos doesn’t stop.

 

“I fell for you like a bag of bricks.”

 

Jay doesn’t tell him to shut up, so he assumes what he’s saying must be okay. He’s cut short, however, when his mother starts shrieking at the top of her lungs. His ears know the sound so well that they numb the horrific noise out.

 

“I started thinking about you more and more often until I thought I was going  _ insane _ ,” he sobs. The tears he never let out when being hit or tortured want out right then and there. He can’t deny them even if he wanted to.  In the background, his mom— still shrieking— grabs a nearby chunk of their forever broken window and walks closer to him. Carlos decides it would be for the best if he doesn’t move, if he just doesn’t  _ try _ anymore to make things better. But his mouth has other plans, for it keeps confessing all he’s kept secret for years (even from himself).

 

“— I started  _ loving you _ !” 

 

Jay is up now. He’s storming towards Cruella like a freight train ready to kill. With the chunk of glass already high and soaring towards the younger teen’s head, Carlos finds he wouldn’t mind a bit of a scratch. 

 

But once again, no scratch comes. 

 

He finds himself hanging in the air and then being thrown over a strong, buff shoulder.  _ Looks like you guys are running away like princesses, _ he thinks. But Carlos is the only princess here—  Jay is his prince. His head bounces against the older teens back as he runs. The air of the isle, aways smelling cheap and filled with disease, for once actually soothes him. They soar past Mal’s house, past Evie’s and the woman who almost scares him as much as his mother. The old shops, including Jafar’s, is all but a blur as they zoom by. He can hear Jay’s heavy breathing and the tightness of his voice as he whispers “ _ It’s okay”  _ over and over again until Carlos actually begins to believe it. 

 

Soon enough the smell is gone and replaced with something crisp, like the candles his mother had sometimes lit on holidays. They never celebrated anything, but candles that smelled of wood and trees were as close as they could get to being jolly and merry. The scent around them was so awfully similar that for a second, he wanted Jay to turn back.

 

But like he said before. He would do  _ anything  _ for Jay. Going against him is something he could never imagine doing.

 

They keep running. And running. And  _ running _ to the point where the center of the isle is no longer in sight. Carlos looks up and relishes in what he sees: a garden.  _ We must be in heaven _ , he thinks as Jay sets him down and grabs him by the shoulders. The flowers around them shudder and quake with the cold breeze flowing by and the trees, tall and demanding, sway. 

 

“Do— “ Jay stops himself and covers his obviously large nerves with a small cough. 

 

Carlos offers a shy grin.

 

“— you still love me?” The arabian finally asks, voice taught as if the question was enough to kill him. He says it cautiously and never once lets go of the shorter teen’s shoulders. Cruella’s son isn’t sure how to answer, even though he knows pretty well what the answer is.

 

_ Yes _ .

 

“And why do you wanna know?” He mutters, betraying his heart and causing it to thump wildly in his chest. Loud enough that he feared Jay might hear it. 

 

The older teen licked his lips. “Because I think we both deserve to know,” he explains. “And I need to know before I explode or something— damn it, Carlos. Just  _ tell _ me!”

 

The last thing Carlos had expected was for Jay to actually lose his temper. He swallows the thick lump in his throat and winces because he knows he  _ has _ to tell him the truth now. Like he said before, he would do anything for Jay. 

 

“I do,” he whispers sharply. “I’m sorry, but I  _ do _ .” The Arabian shouldn't know Carlos’ feelings. No one should know his feelings. According to Cruella, Carlos shouldn’t even be  _ capable _ of feeling anything. The countless of times he was treated like a life-sized punching bag, injured until his limbs would stop functioning for days, were almost enough to convince him that he could not feel pain. 

 

He wiped viciously at his eyes with the back of his torn sleeve, tears threatening once again to spill from his eyes. It’s a contradiction of facts— if he can’t feel anything, then he shouldn’t be able to cry. And yet there he is, dressed prettily with a corset under his clothes and green bruises kissing his skin where only a white surface should be. 

 

Jay looked taken aback at his answer. His eyes remained fixed on Carlos’ face, yet his body seemed to quake— a slight flinch rippling through his chest. 

 

The younger teen’s throat tightened and a strong force whispered for him to run. He recognized it as regret. He’s had his fair share of regrets throughout what his mother called a “pathetic and worthless” life. He regretted the time he didn't pull the stockings up high enough, resulting in shattered wine glass and a bleeding cheek. He also regrets the time he walked in on Cruella ripping apart fur and flesh from one her of latest catches— Carlos had laid awake for days, the image burning into his skull.

 

“You don’t know how fucking  _ long _ I’ve been waiting for you to say that, C,” Jay said, snapping the younger teen out of his mental frenzy. Before Carlos had time to react, he found his body being pulled forwards and engulfed in strong arms. His nostrils filled with the smell of leather and iron, a scent he’s come to know because of the Arabian’s constant visits. He’s never been this close to it, however, with his face being pressed against Jay’s chest and a faint heartbeat teasing the side of his face. 

 

The young De Vil’s eyes fill up with unwanted liquid for what seemed to be the 100th time that day. He struggled not to let out a sob. Any type of embrace or hug was practically illegal on the isle. You just didn’t people touching in a way that didn’t suggest cruelty and hate. And if you did, you best come closer and ruin it for the sake of others. 

 

“ _ Hugs are nasty things, Darling,” _ Cruella had purred to him when he was only six years of age. Back then he just thought his mother was grumpy all the time, the reason why he didn’t receive any sort of affection other than princy and tailored outfits. “ _ They make you all soft inside and rip at all of your little organs with sentiment. It’s horrible, really. So don’t go trying to do that to me,” _ she had added. 

 

His organs were not being torn and shred, Carlos noted as seconds passed. He slowly moved his stiff arms to wrap around Jay’s form, mimicking the way the other teen held him. They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other like the couple in one of the films his mother had forced him to watch— where the man and woman loved one other, kissing and hugging as if they’d never see each other again. 

 

Cruella had cackled through the whole thing.

 

Through grit teeth, he’d laughed too.

  
  


By the time they’d broken apart Carlos’ arms had fallen asleep. They dangled at his sides, tingling uncomfortably as he took a step back from the older teen. Jay was grinning wide from cheek to cheek with a new tenderness to his gaze that made Carlos want to bawl all over again. 

 

_ My mom sure was right about my life being pathetic, _ he thought to himself. His arms still tingled and despite the consequences, he returned the grin. The heart beneath his bruise-covered skin stuttered in its beats and Carlos finally could not hold in the heavy, ugly wail that was settled in his throat. 

 

“How about we get out of this place?” Jay whispered as he brought them close again. The young De Vil could not manage any sort of physical or verbal answer. Instead, he chose to sob harder and to bury his face in the crook of the older teen’s neck. This time the teasing beat of Jay’s heart was lined up with his own. 

 

Carlos’ vision blurred, the reason being both tiredness and pain. The bruises and sealed cuts burned with an intensity that had him almost heaving.  _ I’m surprised you’re not dead, _ he thought to himself. And that was the last thing he recalled before everything went white.

 

White like the streaks through his mother’s hair and like the teeth that made themselves visible whenever Jay laughed.

 

White like the color his skin should have been if it wasn’t for the green and purple that ravished his every end and like the clouds he never got to see.

 

White like the rags that were chucked towards him before being soaked in his own blood and like the little smudges scattered across his nails.

  
  


But when he woke up, he saw the shade of white he loved most—the one that came with Jay’s laugh. He wasn’t sure about where he was. All he knew was that they had run off and that they were safe, the safest you could be on the isle.  For him, that was enough because with Jay there was always an exception. The white clouds he could see and the streaks of black and white that were nowhere to  _ be _ seen proved to be exception enough.


End file.
